She Shall Not Be Denied
by Manchester
Summary: I’ve wondered why there are so few Joyce/Halloween stories. During that episode, it’s only said she’s ‘out.’” Well, here she’s ‘in’ and she has her own costume.
1. Chapter 1

Walking down the steps to the roof of the City Hall, the Mayor was irritably muttering to himself, slipping in among the words of 'gosh!' and 'dear me!', an actual 'blankety-blank!' or two. He'd just had to pour an immense amount of mystical power into the Sunnydale Syndrome spell covering the entire town to make sure that nobody would remember being affected by the blast of pure Chaos magic that had earlier passed unseen through everything that existed in his city.

Heading down the building corridor towards his office, the demon that had discreetly ruled the California municipality for more than a century brooded over what it would do to whomever had performed such a disruptive casting. A nice evisceration for starters, accompanied by the flaying of whatever sexual organs that being or individual possessed, all while delivering a firm reproof over the utter discourtesy of disrupting the commercial operations of the fair town of Sunnydale, should do the trick. Hopefully, he wouldn't actually have to raise his voice during the entire process.

The Mayor opened his office door and stepped inside, only then realizing his most powerful protective wards had been shattered and an intruder was currently inside his sanctuary.

The point of the sword now pressing upon his Adam's apple was a pretty good clue, too.

"Complaints regarding barking dogs and late trash pick-ups should be delivered to the Residential Services office on the first floor, during the weekday hours of nine a.m. to five p.m.--"

The swordtip pressed a little bit deeper, cutting off the Mayor's hasty attempt to distract his adversary while desperately thinking of some way out of this.

"Richard Wilkins. Richard Wilkins the Second. Richard Wilkins the Third." A very cold female voice now fully identified the demon being held at bay by an unknown woman.

"You have the advantage of me, madam--" Another push of the sword made the Mayor shut up again.

"Perhaps this will jog your memory." After that calm statement, the woman holding the sword lifted her other hand to head level, showing the ruler of Sunnydale exactly what she had there.

The Mayor's eyes bulged, as he promptly identified the object of immense power being wielded by the woman, and the demon knew at once its doom was at hand. Especially when that object stirred and moved, performing its intended purpose and showing its decision to the world.

The adjudicator matter-of-factly said, "The verdict has been made. The sentence will now be carried out."

"WAI--!"

A flash of the sword as it swung through the air ended that last desperate, unfinished plea.

Several minutes later, a woman carrying a bloody sword walked out of the City Hall, and paused at the top of the front steps, looking out over the chaos that had overtaken Sunnydale tonight on this Halloween. Creatures, beings, monsters, beasts, characters, and others from all of humanity's stories and tales roamed the streets and sidewalks around the building. The normal humans among them were running away in terror, being attacked, and defending themselves, all to the accompaniment of screams, howls, snarls, and insane laughter.

The woman descended the steps, and calmly strode through the anarchy in the thoroughfares, supremely confident of where to go next.

Everybody and everything left HER alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Earlier that morning, Joyce Summers had hung up the phone a little harder than necessary, and said such a naughty word that if her daughter had been there, Buffy would have been scandalized, admiring, or going into a fit of giggles. The business meeting in Los Angeles the woman had been getting ready for had just been cancelled, and all her plans for her trip were now pointless. Glumly, Joyce got herself a cup of coffee, and sitting at the kitchen table, she sipped her drink and wondered what to do now.

Idly looking over the paper, Joyce lifted this up, and a leaflet fell out. Picking up this sheet, the woman glanced at it, reading an advertisement for a new costume shop in Sunnydale, offering special last-minute discounts for Halloween shoppers. *Ethan's? Isn't that where Buffy said she got her Halloween outfit?*

Joyce was about to toss away the leaflet, along with the rest of the newspaper, until an absurd thought struck her, making her sit up straight with a chuckle. *Why not dress up for Halloween, and surprise Buffy? No! Dress up, and check on her when she's escorting those trick-or-treaters! It'll be hilarious seeing how she has to deal with a bunch of excited kids when I'm not around.* Joyce put down her coffee cup, and gleefully chuckled, reaching again for the leaflet. *Let's see now -- it's not all that far….*

An hour later, Joyce called a cautious "Hello?" Standing in the open doorway of the costume shop, the woman looked around the store empty of customers, but filled with numerous costumes from history, books, movies, comics, and television. Joyce frowned at not seeing anybody at the counter, and then she shrugged. *The door was unlocked, so it's open. Let's look around, see if there's anything I might wear.*

For the next several minutes, Joyce wandered throughout the shop. She was impressed at the variety of costumes, but the woman unhappily noted that most of these were for children and teenagers, with not all that many for adults. Particularly adult women her size. Even when she ran across something she could actually wear, there were objections to these costumes: not interested, don't know who it's supposed to be, you have to be joking, needs to be worn with a partner. One of the latter examples did catch her eye.

Joyce sighed with real regret, running her hand over the purple velvet smoking jacket hanging from a clothes pole and eyeing the sleek, black, floor-length dress with tendrils trailing from the bottom of the skirt that was next to the jacket. She'd really liked watching Morticia Addams on that black-and-white television show, but that costume did need to be paired with somebody who could pull off being Gomez Addams. The woman giggled, imagining Buffy's school librarian wearing the jacket while stroking his newly-applied pencil mustache and calling her "mon cher!" *I wonder if he can actually dance the tango….*

"May I be of assistance?" an unctuous voice with a British accent spoke next to her ear.

"Eeeee!" shrieked Joyce, flinching away and spinning around, to see a very startled man standing there in the row between the costumes. Her heart hammering away in her chest, Joyce blinked at who surely had to be the proprietor, and felt a little foolish at her extreme reaction to somebody who was now watching her a little warily.

"I'm sorry," apologized Joyce. "You just took me by surprise. Um, the door was open, so I came in to find something for Halloween."

"Ah, yes," nodded the man, who really did sound a lot like Rupert Giles. "I thought there would be some customers, even this close to Halloween, but, as you can see…." His voice trailing away, the man ruefully waved his arms around the empty shop.

Joyce nodded in sympathy, telling him, "I own an art shop. I know what it's like to have no customers. Listen, I really do want a costume, so I'd like to look around a bit more, if that's all right with you."

Giving Joyce a slightly oily smile, the man murmured, "Certainly, madam. I'll be at the counter if you need me, or wish to purchase something." At that, the man glided off towards the front of the shop.

Shaking her head in amusement over the way things had just happened, Joyce started checking out more costumes, though she couldn't help thinking about the pair of Englishmen she'd now met in this town. The mother of Buffy Summers had always wanted to visit Britain, but she'd never been able to get closer to that place than watching episodes of 'Masterpiece Theatre.' At least she'd managed to have some chats with Rupert Giles about his home, with the man describing places in London that she might find interesting if she ever traveled there.

Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, the British Museum, Big Ben, etc., etc. Those, and others had been spoken of at great length by a man who clearly missed his birthplace and enjoyed telling stories of--

*Wait a second!* Joyce stopped short in the shop, her mouth open in surprise, until her face changed into a wide grin, and the woman's eyes sparkled with delight. As told by Giles, there was one particular place in London, and something specific there at that location, that she could actually dress up as! And what's more, there was even something in her own art shop that made it absolutely perfect! Spinning around and briskly stepping towards the storefront, Joyce searched for the proprietor.

Patiently waiting for that American woman to find whatever she wanted and buy it, so he could then close up and start getting ready for the ceremony that was certainly going to leave her with quite unforgettable memories of whatever she got up to while wearing her new costume, Ethan Rayne quirked an eyebrow over seeing his customer rapidly come towards him with evident purpose showing on her face.

Joyce's first words to Ethan were, "Do you have a Greek or Roman woman's robe in my size? With sandals, I think….yes, those have to come with that! Oh, and a wig, too!" After those hurried words, Joyce wheeled around and disappeared back into the stacks to find that hairpiece, calling after herself to the proprietor her clothing and shoe sizes.

Now both of Ethan's eyebrows had risen to their full height. A woman's robe from pre-Christian historical times? Who the devil was she planning to be? As a matter of fact, he thought he did have one of those in her size, or close to it, so Ethan simply shrugged, and went off into the back room to hunt for it. Oh, and the sandals too, though those were easy enough.

Happily holding the perfect wig for her costume, Joyce headed back to the store counter, only to stop short along the way, to stare at the white scarf around the neck of one of the costumed mannequins. Reaching out to pull free the scarf, the woman keenly examined this filmy strip of cloth, and then nodded in satisfaction. She'd been thinking about using a length of cheesecloth from her kitchen, but this was much better. Carrying both of her chosen objects, Joyce went on to pay for her purchases.

An evidently puzzled man was waiting for her, a package resting on the counter. When Joyce stepped up in front of the proprietor, he waved a hand at what was on the counter, and said, "That's what you wanted, madam. Is there anything else?"

Firmly nodding, Joyce placed the wig and the scarf on the counter by the package, saying, "These-- Oooo, and that, too!" During that excited outburst, Joyce shot out her hand to eagerly point at something on the store wall directly behind the man.

Turning around, Ethan's mouth dropped open in utter surprise, as he looked at what the woman clearly wanted. After a few moments, impelled by the impatient clearing of her throat behind him, Ethan stepped forward, and reached out--

"No, the one next to that!"

Ethan bewilderedly obeyed the order, to take from the wall the long, straight, scabbarded sword hanging there, along with the belt needed for this to be worn on the wielder's hip. Holding this and turning to return to the counter, to place the plastic weapon by the other parts of the woman's costume, Ethan bemusedly informed his customer of the total price for all of the items.

Joyce didn't even haggle, just pulling out her credit card from her purse, and watching as the proprietor finished the transaction and placed the items into a shopping bag, even though the sword stuck out from the top of this bag. Picking up the bag and preparing to leave, Joyce stopped when she heard the man clear his throat, and say with evident bafflement in his voice, "Ah, madam, before you go, could you please tell me who -- or what -- exactly you are going to be this Halloween?"

Smiling, Joyce told the confused proprietor, "Oh, it's going to be a surprise for Rupert--"

"Do you mean Rupert Giles?!" gasped the Englishman.

"Why, yes-- What, you KNOW him?!" stared Joyce at the man across the counter now snickering to himself.

"Oh, yes indeed, though he doesn't know I'm here. I think he'll become aware of my presence quite soon, anyway," answered the more-calmer man, though there was a rather evil smile now on his face.

"That's….nice," uncertainly said Joyce. Rallying, she told the waiting man, "Well, I'm going to dress up as a figure from London history that he told me about, that's shown as a statue there. I hope he'll like it."

"Er, quite," replied the still-puzzled man. He politely inclined his head in goodbye as the woman smiled at him, took her shopping bag, and left the store. After a few moments, Ethan also went to the front door, locked it, and placed the CLOSED sign in the shop window. Turning around to start towards the back room and the beginnings of the ceremony, the man stopped short, an extremely mystified look on his face.

"A statue?! Who the blazes were you talking about, Ripper?" muttered Ethan to himself. He shook his head with bemusement. From what he remembered during his carousing with the other man decades ago in London, neither of them had been exactly interested in history or works of art back then. Booze and bints, that had been the ticket.

A sudden look of inspiration appeared on Ethan's face when he considered the time they'd both spent searching for women around London in the hopes of a really good party. There had actually been one occasion, while strolling near Big Ben, checking out the birds of the human female species, they'd come across a magnificent statue of charging horses pulling an ancient British chariot with spiked wheels, this wagon carrying three figurines of women. Back then, Rupert and Ethan had admired the tits on the bare-breasted crouching handmaidens on either side of the main figure standing haughtily in the chariot, arms raised in energy and determination, a truly awe-inspiring woman who symbolized…..

In his shop, Ethan leaned against the counter, and laughed so hard he actually cried. "Oh, Ripper, you've outdone yourself! Because of what you told her, that woman -- tonight she'll become one of the fiercest warrior women of all time! She'll be Boadicea, the queen of a British tribe who really hated the Romans and she led her army against these, slaughtering entire cities and came as near as a toucher throwing all of them completely out of dear old Blighty!"

Still chuckling and wiping away tears of mirth, Ethan headed to the back of his shop, a spring in his step at the prospect of even more anarchy brought to Sunnydale by that woman when she appeared in her new aspect in tonight's Halloween. He was quite cheerful as he disappeared into the back room.

The chaos mage might have been more thoughtful, if that man had somehow been informed that he was totally and completely wrong.

Much later, just after it had become dark outside, a thrilled Joyce Summers examined herself in the antique, full-length mirror in her art shop. She'd had to change there, to avoid spoiling the surprise waiting for Buffy and the others if they'd seen her at the Revello house when they came to change into their own costumes. Plus, Joyce needed to pick up from her place of business the final item of her Halloween costume.

Giggling, Joyce turned and preened at her reflection in the mirror. Her robe fit perfectly, and the sandals were comfortable, though the sword belted at her hip had required some practice in walking around without that toy weapon catching in her legs or banging into things. Joyce leaned forward to the mirror, examining her head. The dark wig had somehow changed the shape of her face, giving her a quite different appearance, and of course, the white scarf had also helped in concealing her identity, and it wasn't all that uncomfortable wearing that item of clothing.

Turning away from the mirror, Joyce squinted around the lit shop. Yes, she could see quite well, even if a bit dimly. The woman was sure it would be all right outside, though it would be wise to stick to well-lighted streets. Which was always a good thing to do in Sunnydale, anyway. Now, time to get the last thing, and leave!

Walking over to one of the wall display cases holding works of art, Joyce unlocked this and held open the small door as she delicately pulled out the antique there, closing the case door after herself. As she held this object in front of her impaired vision, the woman admired the valuable, solid-silver object d'art, and firmly reminded herself to never lose nor damage it tonight while carrying it. "You break it, you own it," dryly muttered Joyce to herself.

Carefully holding her prize, Joyce turned out the lights of the shop, and going to the front door, she set the lock and stepped out, closing the door after her, and hearing the lock catch. In the darkness of the Sunnydale night, Joyce Summers started walking in the direction of the high school--

"JANUS!"


	3. Chapter 3

Several hours after the ceremony, when he'd finally recovered from his casting, Ethan walked out of the back room of the costume shop, carefully carrying in his arms the bust of the double-faced god that had created such tumult in the town of Sunnydale this Halloween night. Perching this small statue of his deity on the shop counter, Ethan took a step back, and smirked at Janus, dimly lit from only a single working light overhead in the ceiling.

"Having a lovely time tonight, aren't we?" chuckled the man. Cocking his head, the magician could actually feel through his mystical senses the forces of chaos radiating away from the bust to pass through his own body, making the magic in the unused costumes around him stir, and spreading out from the shop to throughout the entire town. All while creating lovely, lovely anarchy--

Behind Ethan, the shop front door exploded.

Slammed face-first into the floor by the force of the blast, as numerous door splinters and other debris hummed dangerously while zooming past over his head, Ethan spent the next few moments dazedly contemplating the thought that perhaps there was such a thing as too much disorder. Shaking off this blasphemous reflection, Ethan rolled over on his back, and stared at the remains of his front door, where a being was now calmly stepping through the now-open entranceway.

He recognized her at once. Not just as the woman who'd visited his shop a few hours before, but as who she now represented.

She was Lady Justice.

In her dazzling white Grecian robe, taking steady sandaled steps towards the man lying on the floor and gaping at her, the woman firmly held in one hand a drawn, glowing sword that had casually smashed through both the door and the wards set upon it against intruders. Ethan's eyes darted at once to examine the woman's other hand, where she was carrying something far more dangerous: a small, silver pair of scales, with which all those who came before Justice had their actions and crimes judged.

Cringing away, Ethan now had his gaze rise from what the woman was holding, to her face. There, over her icy mask of contemplation over humanity's misdeeds and transgressions, the woman was wearing a horizontal strip of white cloth across her eyes, symbolizing her blindness to any influence, authority, or power. Only truth, candor, and sincerity mattered to Justice.

Right now, when he really wished had happened sooner in figuring out exactly what his former friend had told the woman, Ethan Rayne remembered how decades ago, when he and Rupert Giles had visited the Old Bailey in London, the Central Criminal Court of the United Kingdom, and when walking there, they had looked up, to see the statue of Justice displaying in her outstretched hands the sword and scales of her impartiality, and gazing out over the entire city of London--

"WAIT A SECOND!" unthinkingly bellowed Ethan, who desperately continued, "You made a mistake! There's no way you can be the Old Bailey statue, because it's completely different in one way from how you look now!"

Justice stopped in her advance, the woman's head tilting in thought as she considered this. On the rare occasions in the past when the anthropomorphic representation of the fairness of law had allowed herself to appear on the material plane, she had been greeted with screams, excuses, rationalizations, and begging for mercy. Honest indignation was rare enough that Justice was, for the moment, willing to listen.

Looking at where the woman in the white robe had halted, Ethan felt a flicker of hope arise in his mind, and licking his dry lips, the mage continued, "When Rip-- Rupert Giles must have told you about the Justice statue on top of Old Bailey, he clearly didn't tell you about what he and I learned from a bloke at that spot when we paid a visit there." Ethan swallowed when Justice had no reaction to this, but he forged ahead anyway. "Th-- that, of all the statues of Justice in the world, that specific sculpture there is one of the few that isn't wearing a blindfold."

"True," was spoken by the woman in a voice as steady and as cold as an iceberg, with virtually nothing of humanity in her tone. Ethan felt his blood congeal in terror at seeing below Justice's blindfold the appearance of a smile, as thin and sharp as a guillotine's blade. "But still I know what is spoken of my image in that place: that I was intentionally made so, to keep an eye upon them all, the law-makers, the law-keepers, and the law-breakers. The innocent and the guilty. Shall we see which of these you are, Ethan Rayne?"

At those last words, the Englishman frantically scrabbled backwards, with his elbows and heels pushing away at the floor, until the top of his head banged against the side of the store counter. Justice paid no attention to this, as she lifted up her scales into the air, and intoned, "She who choose this apparel, and became what I now am, for whatever reason truly did not know of what you speak. Instead, Joyce Summers believed all forms of Justice are blind, and so I became as she thought, to be sightless, yet able to carry out my work while seeing whatever truth there may be. Now, let judgment commence upon you."

Held up high, the scales of Justice shivered, and then the pan holding the wrongs and transgressions of Ethan Rayne slowly sank, coming to a rest at its lowest depth possible.

"Guilty on all counts. Let the sentence be carried out."

"STAY BACK!"

At that furious bellow, Justice glanced over at what had been done as she'd been concentrating on her verdict. While the woman had been distracted, Ethan had sprung to his feet, turned to grab the bust of Janus, and spun back around, holding the small statue in from of him at chest level, clearly for protection. Glaring at the white-robed woman who now took a step towards him, raising her sword, Ethan snarled, "Come nearer, and I'll smash this to the floor, and you'll disappear along with the chaos magic! All that'll be left of you will be just an ordinary woman with a plastic sword, and I won't be gentle with you!"

Justice paused, bringing down her sword, to then take another step towards the mage, as Ethan tensed and threateningly gestured with the bust, clearly about to hurl it to the ground. Stopping and standing close to the man, Justice again tilted her head, without a doubt regarding the other, despite the woman's hidden eyes.

"Still you commit more crimes? You forget two things: throughout whatever has passed in history, many have made incredible sacrifices in my name, and also that this woman's child is wearing one of your costumes. By my powers, this I know, that Buffy Summers is now in mortal danger."

//Crunch.//

Ethan blinked at hearing this sound, and looked down. Faster than he could have possibly reacted, Justice had struck, stabbing with her swordpoint to thrust this right through the entire bust of Janus, penetrating both of the foreheads of the double-headed sculpture. Still gazing at his ruined god, Ethan saw the bust develop cracks that ran up and down from the vertical blades of the sword, causing the whole statue to split in two, slipping out of his numbed fingers to fall and shatter upon the floor.

Elsewhere, all over Sunnydale, the chaos magic abruptly came to an end, and in an alley, a young girl's cheerful voice called out at a blonde vampire, "Honey, I'm home!"

The Englishman in the costume shop had his own problems. Continuing his downward stare through now-dimming eyesight, the man dreamily watched his life's-blood stream from the center of his chest where the sword had plunged into after passing through the Janus bust, for the weapon to embed its point deep into his body, right at heart level.

Barely managing to lift his head, the magician gave one last look at Justice, and the roaring in his ears nearly drowned out the final words he heard from her.

"Though the heavens may fall."

The sword was jerked out from the dying man's chest, and as he fell to his knees, the keen blade of that weapon came around in a sweeping circle, aimed right at Ethan Rayne's neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Rupert Giles ran for his life.

He wasn't sure just what was chasing him down the Sunnydale street, and at this exact moment, he wasn't going to turn his head to further examine the monster breathing down his neck. Instead, the man tried to summon another burst of speed from his legs. Gasping for breath, the high-school librarian frantically looked ahead for someplace he could dodge his pursuer--

A hairy being with glowing eyes and clawed hands stepped out of an alley just before Giles and stood in the middle of the street, evidently waiting for its prey to come nearer. The Englishman, still at a flat run, felt a wave of despair pass over him, and he plunged his right hand into the inner pocket of his tweed jacket for his stake to make a hopeless last stand.

In the next instant, the monster in the street had its entire form shimmer, as if it was seen through the wavering air of an extremely hot day, and then, where a creature about to have a nice snack of an exhausted former employee of the British Museum had once existed, there was now a shocked teenage boy wearing some kind of shaggy costume.

Giles skidded to a halt, standing and panting, as he stared at what had happened in front of him. As an abrupt thought struck him, he cautiously turned around, to see another child there also gasping for breath, as the young girl the same age as the other teenager stared around in alarm, dressed in her flowing robes stained with fake blood.

"Aw, geez! Look at the time! Mom's gonna kill me!"

This had come from the boy, and as Giles turned back to look at this youth, that Halloween reveler was staring with panic at his watch. Breaking into a jog, the boy dashed past Giles without even looking at the man, to slow down and stop by the other teenage girl. Watching all this, a disbelieving Giles heard the boy ask the girl, "Uh, what happened? I don't remember anything…."

"I don't either!" blurted out the girl, looking around uneasily. "I was with friends just a few minutes ago, and now I'm here!"

"Well, I'm gonna go home, and Mom's gonna yell at me," glumly said the boy. Looking at the girl, the boy brightened up a little, to shyly ask, "Hey, you wanna walk with me? I live at Springfield Street."

The girl blinked, and peered at the boy, who was kind of good-looking, even in his hairy outfit, and had a faint smile appear on her face, as she tentatively said, "Yeah, I guess. Uh, my name's Allison."

"Jimmy."

Staring after two people evidently experiencing a severe case of Sunnydale Syndrome, Giles dazedly watched the boy and the girl walk off, chattering with each other, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to him.

*Well, that was bloody unexpected,* Giles reflected to himself. Suddenly frowning, the man wondered if this had happened elsewhere -- indeed, could the spell that had changed people into their costumes tonight actually be over? Cautiously making his way to Sunnydale's business district, Giles saw indications that his suspicions were true. The few people he saw along the way were totally human, and if they were wearing costumes, they were walking around while wearing stunned expressions and clearly intending to return to their homes.

Taking heart from this, Giles briskly continued his trip to where he'd been told was the whole point of his journey tonight. The Englishman's fists clenched as he strode along, as a furious Giles snarled into thin air, "Ethan, I'm going to turn you into a proper dog's breakfast!"

Several minutes later, Giles' anger changed into wariness, as he stared at the gaping hole in the front of the shop that was his goal. Cautiously making his way along the side of the store, the man stopped at the splintered edges of the now much-wider entrance, and carefully peeked around the smoldering doorframe.

In the next instant, Rupert Giles peered at the swordpoint that had abruptly appeared a fraction of an inch from the tip of his nose.

"You may enter," dryly said a woman's voice.

Since he hardly had a choice, Giles now stepped forward, with the swordpoint being withdrawn only as to allow him to enter the store, and otherwise maintaining its position at a very worrying closeness to his face.

There weren't many things that could have distracted Rupert Giles at this exact moment, but seeing the severed head of Ethan Rayne on its side on the floor, with that now-deceased man's features having a slightly puzzled expression of staring into eternity, certainly accomplished this. Along with recognizing who had taken him prisoner.

"Joyce?!"

The white-robed woman with a blindfold across her face slowly and pensively shook her head, and then giving the flabbergasted man before her a sightless stare, she murmured, "Not….quite."

Overwhelmed, Giles' knees went weak at the last, and he abruptly sat down hard on the shop floor. At least the swordpoint hadn't followed his last actions, with the woman now bringing it to her side, and sheathing this weapon into its scabbard with a single easy, trained gesture. It was really impressive, considering her other hand never let go of its grip on the pair of scales she was carrying.

Sitting tailor-fashion on the floor, Giles let his gaze pass over once more what now remained of his former friend, along with the other, larger part of his body, not to mention a rather mystifying small pile of rubble next to the decapitated corpse, and shuddered. The librarian cautiously switched his attention to the woman standing before him and waiting patiently.

"I recognize your…representation. So, it seems that you acquired a costume from here….and returned to end what happened tonight," murmured Giles, mostly to himself. Only after that did he look up, just managing to meet the blind gaze of Lady Justice as he worriedly asked, "But….it appears that the spell or whatever Ethan did is over! Why are you still…what you are?"

The woman shook her head again. "I am not now fully what I was, before I destroyed the bust of Janus that released tonight's chaos magic." Giles perked up at this news, his curiosity awoken, but he managed to keep silent and listen as the woman continued. "My supposition is that since both Justice and the woman who was her physical form jointly agreed and accomplished the action that ended the spell, plus that we two were in actual contact with the magics when they ended, a portion of the casting remained in….myself. I am both Justice and Joyce now, Rupert Giles."

His face paling over this, Giles tried to deal with his whirling thoughts. How was this possible? Was there any chance of changing Joyce back to her former identity? And if not….how was this going to affect Buffy and her work as a Slayer? At that last question, Giles swallowed hard, as he realized that Joyce hadn't known about her daughter being the Slayer in the first place, nor that the young girl would spend the rest of her life battling demons, due to Buffy's insistence that her mother never be told about it.

Looking up as Joyce -- Justice -- whomever! -- took a step nearer, Giles became even more nervous at the woman's blindfolded face giving him a steady look. His alarm only increased at the words he now heard from her.

"I know everything. Do you truly think things can be hidden from Justice? Particularly from the first moment I came to this place, with its Mouth of Hell, and its master." Giles sat frozen on the floor, as the woman gazed contemplatively over his head, and continued in her icy tone. "I dealt with him first, that sorcerer who spent more than a century in control of that dimensional nexus, plotting to change from his feeble half-human, half-demonic form into that of a true daemon which has not appeared in this world for so very long. In the process, I learned the truth about Sunnydale. The Hellmouth. Demons. Vampires. The Slayer. The Council. The….Scooby Gang." At those last words directed to a horrified Rupert Giles, the stern face of the blind woman actually softened, with the corners of her mouth quirking upwards, as her voice changed into a warmer, more human chuckle of, "It was Xander who thought that up, didn't he?"

The Englishman was too overwhelmed over all the shocks of the last few minutes to do anything more to feebly nod in answer to that last question. Though, Giles became suddenly wary at seeing Justice's face turn cold again, as she once more fixed her sightless gaze upon him. Before he could move the slightest, in an abrupt blur of action, the woman drew her sword, to hold it steadily pointed a hand's-breath from the man's now-white face.

Justice addressed him again in her aloof speech. "My knowledge includes you, Rupert Giles. Not just all of your actions in this community, but before that in your life. Yes, I am quite aware of it all….Ripper." After speaking that name, the woman's glowing sword suddenly moved in her grip, with the merest flicks of her wrist easily slicing and carving into her weapon's target, all before the Watcher could do anything to avoid this, to finally draw back her sword.

At once, Giles then instinctively clasped his left hand over the upper part of his right arm that the sword had cut, expecting pain and blood from where this blade had struck, looking with horror at where his hand was gripping his arm, and feeling….nothing?

No, he felt some loose fabric under his palm.

Carefully lifting his left hand away, Giles blinked as that hand's fingers were now clutching a square patch of tweed fabric and another piece of cloth the same size and shape from his right shirtsleeve. A portion of his inside upper right arm was now exposed to sight, with the skin there marked with a black tattoo of an extremely disturbing mystical symbol.

It was the sign of Eyghon.

Giles looked up to see Justice's sword once again unwaveringly held point-first in front of his face, as that representation of impartiality spoke. "That demon still claims you, Rupert Giles, but there may be a choice for you….if you deserve it. Rare though it may be, I will offer you an option: to leave unharmed my presence and this town, to spend the rest of your life making amends for what you did as a youth and hope that you have atoned sufficiently….or to face my judgment here and now, whatever the outcome."

During those words, the man sitting on the costume shop floor had his facial features change from worried dread to resigned acceptance. Ignoring the sword that was now drawn back, Giles slowly got up. He would do this on his feet. Standing there and looking Justice full in the face, the native of a small island that once had ruled a quarter of the globe steadily and formally said, "I know full well what I did of my own free will when I was younger, and I also choose back then to turn away from it. As then I made my new life's path, to go where it took me….though I did not know what would come to pass or what I would find. Still, the journey was made, and whether it is over or not, I am glad I found during it, love and family." Bracing himself, Giles spoke his final words in a ringing declaration that resounded throughout the shop.

"Justice, I request judgment!"

Her face expressionless, Justice lifted her scales high, and with her other hand, clenched her grip around her sword. After a moment, the scales began to move, to finally stop in their new level, as Justice rendered her decision.

"The verdict has been made. The sentence will now be carried out."

Justice's sword now glowed brighter than the sun, with her weapon then flashing towards Rupert Giles, as that man screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning after Halloween, Buffy bounced down the stairs of her home, her current cheerful demeanor not giving any signs of the seriously mixed emotions that girl was now experiencing. First, there were all those embarrassing memories of how stupid to the max she'd been last night, when the Slayer had turned into a brainless eighteenth-century noblewoman whose response to anything that frightened her could be summarized by three words: "scream and faint."

Wincing at what she'd done while under the influence of her costume (now shoved under her bed upstairs), Buffy came to the foot of the stairs and headed towards the back of the house. The high-school student also moodily considered the fact that her detested costume hadn't even had the desired effect on the very person she'd dressed up for in the first place. After everyone had changed back to their normal bodies (yay, Giles!), Angel had privately confessed to her, with a serious face, that back then as a human, he'd never cared all that much for those chattering females supremely confident that their finery would make up for the fact that these women had nothing significant to offer the other in any relationship.

And then Angel had kissed Buffy.

The girl in her home stopped short in the hallway, a wide grin breaking over her face, as she giggled with glee. Her annoyed mood abruptly changing to one of pure happiness, Buffy actually skipped on her way to the kitchen as she lovingly remembered that kiss, along with the other really best part of the whole night.

Of how she'd finally managed to stake Spike.

It had been mostly sheer luck, Buffy had to admit to herself. When she'd changed back from an ordinary human into her usual Slayerness, she'd been a step closer and reacted a second faster than Spike could have dodged and run off in that alley, which a few moments later had been declared by Xander at the top of his lungs as his "fifth most favorite place in the whole wide world!" while that teenage boy had been doing the Snoopy Dance directly on that blonde vampire's ashes.

It was really amazing how fast things could change due to the slightest alteration to the world at large, mused the girl, as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Buffy."

"AAAACK!" shrieked the blonde girl, clutching at her chest as she barely managed to avoid becoming the only Slayer in the entire history of the Council to die of something as prosaic as a heart attack.

Joyce Summers let her right eyebrow rise a fraction as she gazed with an otherwise calm expression on her face at that woman's caught-unawares daughter leaning against the kitchen entranceway and pounding at her chest with her right fist, as Buffy tried to regain her breath, all while the girl stared disbelieving at her mother seated at the kitchen table and placidly sipping from her coffee cup.

Finally, Buffy managed to gasp out, "Mom, what-- I thought you were in LA!"

Bringing down her cup to rest on the table, Joyce shrugged, and then answered, "My business trip got cancelled, so I stayed in town." The woman then had a very dry look come over her features, as she eyed her daughter. "Oh, by the way, Buffy, would you happen to know exactly why our back door is in splinters? I'm quite sure it wasn't like that yesterday morning."

Buffy's face paled, as her gaze darted at the fragments of the kitchen door that had been shoved to the side last night after a demon had smashed its way into the Revello house, seeking to kill a Slayer that had lost her powers. Angel had managed to best that attacker, but a panicked noblewoman had then run through that doorway out of the house, into the Halloween night. Much later, after things had gotten back to normal, Buffy had come home totally ready for bed, and she had spent only a few minutes tacking up a tarp in the empty space where the kitchen door had been. Since enough demons had escaped from the alley during her successful confrontation with Spike to surely pass the word around the local monster population that the Slayer was indeed back again and once more kicking ass, Buffy hadn't bothered to do anything else to replace the door, choosing instead to go upstairs and collapse into her bed, where things could surely wait for morning.

Well, it was morning, and Buffy now tried desperately to come up with some sort of believable excuse that her mom would actually buy. It just wasn't fair! For breakfast before school today, she'd been planning on consuming a dozen nice, juicy Danish accompanied by a cup of yearned-for caffeine, all while making a casual phone call to those Council-paid handymen possessing masterly carpentry, dry-walling, and other maintenance and refurbishing skills by people that were willing to fix anything, anywhere, anytime in Sunnydale, all while keeping their mouths absolutely shut about how a small blonde and her friends managed to destroy everything at their homes, schools, and other places.

It would've been the easiest thing in the world for these repairmen to replace their kitchen door today while Buffy was at Sunnydale High, and Mrs. Summers would have come back from her business trip while remaining totally in the dark about it all. Instead of being here right this minute and giving her daughter the disapproving LOOK that made Elizabeth Anne completely forget that she was the Slayer, heir to millennia of females defending their world from the forces of the dark, and instead trying not to burst into tears just like the four-year-old girl she felt like at this exact moment.

"Well, Buffy?"

Gulping, that addressed person squeaked, "Uh….termites?"

For the next several moments, there was utter silence in the kitchen.

Finally, Joyce sighed, "At least you're consistent, with your excuse that your other high school gym burned down due to mice chewing on the electrical system wires." As Buffy opened her mouth to indignantly confirm this, Joyce just shook her head and got up from the kitchen table, decisively pointing at her now empty chair while ordering in a firm tone that cut off anything her daughter was going to say. "Just sit down. I'll make you breakfast before you go to school."

After that, Joyce began bustling around her domain while shooting an annoyed glower towards the tarp covering the space where the kitchen door had formerly been, as her daughter dazedly sat down at the table. Soon enough, a stack of pancakes, with the upper cake decorated with eyes of whipped cream and a bacon-smile, was then deposited before the young woman. It was only due to her normal Slayer hunger that Buffy managed to devour every bite of her breakfast, since the blonde's glum knowledge that things weren't over yet between herself and her mother would have ordinarily killed her appetite.

Much too quickly, Buffy finished off her meal and nervously put her plate, glass and cutlery into the dishwasher, all conscious of Joyce watching her daughter's every move while that older woman leaned back against the refrigerator, arms folded across her chest. Despite knowing it was utterly hopeless, Buffy still sidled towards the entry into the sitting room and her potential escape.

"Buffy."

Right just before she was about to make a break for freedom, the young woman cringed at hearing her name, stopping at the kitchen/sitting room entryway and turning to meet her mother's expressionless gaze, as Joyce eyed her daughter. Finally, the older woman said sternly, "Young lady, after school today, we are going to have a….talk. About everything. Understand?"

"Yes, mommy." There was an actual quaver in Buffy's voice as she stared at her now-satisfied mother nodding to herself. The high-schooler took this action as permission to leave, and there was an actual 'pop' as air rushed in to fill the vacuum that had been created as the body of a sixteen-year-old female transported itself out of the house and into the streets of Sunnydale at a dead run, slamming the door of her house behind herself.

In the kitchen, Joyce Summers let an actual smirk appear on her features, as a slightly disapproving voice spoke inside her head.

*Even for such as I, the concept of mercy has been applied to me. That was rather cruel, Joyce.*

"Fun, though," chuckled Joyce to the new presence in her mind, as the woman poured herself another cup of coffee, and sat down at the breakfast table, to begin her perhaps-friendly chat with Justice.


	6. Chapter 6

All the way to her school, Buffy moved in a daze, ignoring everything around her when she finally finished her walk, including the groups of students clustered together around the front of Sunnydale High, excitedly chattering to each other and pointing at the newspaper at least one person was always holding in these collections of teenagers. Her deeply bemused mood was finally broken by hearing with her Slayer abilities the exasperated snapping by a girl her own age.

"Quit POKING me, Xander!"

Buffy's head came up from her introspection, and she glanced around, to unerringly head towards the steps of the front entrance, where a redheaded girl sitting there and holding her own newspaper was glowering at the boy seated next to her pulling back his stiffened index finger from her ribs. An innocent look was on Xander's face, as he snorted, "Hey, Wils, you're the one who was all worried about you keeping anything from last night!"

"Well, I haven't," grumbled Willow, scooting over as Buffy sat down next to her, but otherwise giving her total attention to a now-smirking Xander. The Jewish girl then accused, "And what about YOU, mister? Should I be yelling 'Attention!' at you all day, just to see if anything happens?"

A wry grin twisted the teenage male's lips, as he shrugged. "I dunno. I think I kept something, anyway. I have the weirdest feeling that if you gave me a M-16 rifle, I could field-strip it in thirty seconds and reassemble it in just that time, too."

Willow looked fascinated at hearing this, and then mused, "I wonder if it's because what happened to me involved my physical body, while your Halloween costume just gave you the learned memories of a soldier."

Xander brightened, saying, "Cool. That'll be useful, I betcha. Hey, Buffster, did you keep anything from that swanky gown you had on last night? Well, besides going into hysterics over anything more advanced than a rock."

Giggling, Willow turned to look at Buffy and then drew back at seeing the Slayer glaring at them both. Right after that, the Sunnydale natives heard their friend icily say, "Le lignage desloial et felon."

"Huh?!" chorused Xander and Willow simultaneously, staring in bewilderment at Buffy, who blinked at them.

"What?" came from the blonde girl, delivered with honest puzzlement.

Working up her courage, Willow carefully noted, "Uh, Buffy, you just said something to us in what sounded like French."

Her friend's face scrunching in thought, Willow watched as Buffy clearly ran over in her mind the last few moments, to end up gaping at the pair sharing their seat at the front of the school. In a slightly shaking voice, the Los Angeles native said, "I did, didn't I? Um, wow. I don't really remember anything else any more from who had that dress before me, but….I can now speak French."

"So, what'd you just say?" asked a really fascinated Xander.

Buffy's face turned bright red, as she hastily glanced at her shoes. Not looking either of them in the eye, the girl mumbled, "Uh, it was a kinda insult. Something like, 'from an unfaithful and wicked lineage.'"

Xander promptly guffawed, happily elbowing a less-pleased Willow, as he choked out, "Hey, that matches me to a T, you gotta admit."

The redhead just snorted at that, studying Buffy still determinedly staring at the ground. After a few moments, Willow's irritation slowly changed to being deep in thought, as her intelligence went to work. "Buffy, it looks like you also kept part of what the other girl in your gown learned, such as her language."

"Yeah!" cheerfully interjected Xander. "Not to mention that Mrs. Cavendish in French class is gonna have to give you an 'A' in midterms, so you really lucked out!"

Buffy lifted her head and retorted to the grinning boy, "Considering I was barely scraping through it before, she'll just think I figured out a way to cheat on the test! Like I don't have enough problems as the Slayer."

The male member of the Scooby Gang grunted, and then pointed at the newspaper in Willow's hands. "Your problems kinda pale to what happened to the Mayor last night."

"What're you talking about, Xan? You mean, Mayor, uh, Wilton?"

Both Willow and Xander stared at Buffy, with the redhead girl piping, "Wilkins. Richard Wilkins the Third. Buffy, didn't you read the paper this morning?"

Wincing at what she'd went through earlier today at her home, Buffy admitted, "Uh, I was kinda busy. I didn't pick it up when I left the house. Why? What's going on?"

Instead of replying, Willow handed her newspaper to Buffy, who now gawked at the enormous headline on the front page: HEADLESS MAYOR FOUND IN OFFICE! The blonde hurriedly read the story below, which admitted right off to its readers that only skimpy information was known due to that news organization learning of the shocking discovery just before the paper went to press. Nevertheless, Mayor Wilkins had evidently expired through being decapitated at the hands of someone performing a truly horrendous crime upon that admired politician. After that, the story became a rather vague recitation of that decedent's career, ending with the declaration that the Sunnydale police force, as given by Detective Stein currently assigned to the case, would be devoting all of its efforts to locating and arresting whomever had committed that atrocious offense.

Perching his chin upon Willow's left shoulder, Xander snarked when he saw Buffy had finished reading the latter part of the newspaper story, "Which just means in the end, the cops will probably call it a case of the Mayor suffering a really, really bad paper cut."

A cynical smirk passed over Buffy's features, as she contemplated how the inept and ham-fisted local law enforcement group of the town would deal with such a potentially notorious felony. Suddenly, Buffy stiffened in her seat, as a potentially worrisome complication appeared in her mind. Looking with concern at her friends, the Slayer blurted out, "Guys, I just had a really horrible thought! Remember Ethan's costume shop? When we all went through it looking for outfits, did either of you see a costume from the old Sleepy Hollow story? I mean, that Headless Horseman character."

Both Xander and Willow now stared at each other with consternation, and then they became introspective, clearly trying to remember. Finally, the others of the Scooby Gang turned to Buffy, shaking their heads. Willow was the first to speak. "I can't think of anything, Buffy."

"Me, neither," contributed Xander, who now got up from his seat on the steps. "Look, let's talk it over with the G-man. Maybe he knows something. Plus, I want to know what happened, what he did in getting things to change back."

Also getting to her feet, along with Willow, Buffy looked surprised, and asked, "What, he didn't call you?"

"Nope, Buffmeister. Wils said he didn't call her, either. I thought you knew."

As they went up the stairs to enter Sunnydale High, Buffy looked over at Xander, and her brows wrinkling with worry, said, "I just went home and went to bed. I didn't get any call, then, or in the morning. Come on. Let's get to the library."

At that, the Scooby Gang picked up their stride, as they went down the familiar school corridors to their own special place.

When they entered the library, the trio became even more concerned. Instead of the Watcher being seated at his normal location behind his desk and bestowing among them all his familiar, slightly exasperated gaze through his glasses, the room seemed at this moment to be totally deserted. In a truly anxious voice, Willow was the first to suggest, "Maybe we should call his apartment?"

Xander's rapid, head-bobbing nods of agreement were interrupted by Buffy quickly holding up her right hand in a clear gesture of attention, as the blonde girl stared at the library shelf to their right. A second later, Rupert Giles stepped out from behind this bookshelf, continuing his walk towards his desk, and also on his way absently rubbing his upper right arm with his left hand. That man suddenly halted at seeing the other three people in the library, with all of the high-school students now looking at him with very relieved faces.

The youngest male there happily aimed a snarky remark at the Englishman, "Hey, G-man, did you notice anything unusual happening last-- AWK!"

That sound effect was the result of Rupert Giles walking right up to Xander Harris and giving the teenager a strong hug.

The eyes of both Buffy and Willow were now as round and wide as saucers, as they stood stock-still, watching in disbelief as a beaming Giles continued to embrace an also-paralyzed Xander. After several moments, as everyone remained in their immobile postures, a muffled voice was heard.

"Yo, Buffy, Wils."

"What, Xander?" was simultaneously choked out by that pair.

From where Xander's face was buried into a tweed shoulder came, "You think maybe you could check behind those shelves, look for alien pods holding replicas of us guys, that kind of thing, before I get my brain sucked out through my ears by something's tentacles?"

At that, the older man performed a cultured, supreme sniff of total derision, as he finally ended his embrace of his captive, who had a rather wild-eyed expression on his features, as Xander was held out at arm's length, his shoulders still gripped in Giles' grasp, as that man intoned, "Actually, I far preferred the classic 1956 version rather than that lesser adaptation done two decades later. Besides, even with an actual invasion of the body snatchers, I should think you'd be quite safe, Xander. Due to the fact there'd be much more….ample….prizes of mentality among the populace."

Giles now let go of Xander, and headed purposefully towards a very nervous Willow, leaving behind him a boy having a big smile on his face and snickering to himself, "Damn, that was a classic burn!"

Nobody was paying all that much attention to the son of Tony and Jessica Harris, as Giles was now again repeating his out of the ordinary behavior, in giving Willow Rosenberg a very affectionate hug, all in an avuncular style, of course. Still, as Buffy and Xander stared at their friend in the Englishman's arms, crushed against his chest they could see only past Giles' embracing arms the back of the girl's neck and her ears, both now turning as red as her hair. Nevertheless, Willow's own arms tentatively came up and hugged him back, with her grip beginning to become stronger as the lonely girl who received virtually no parental affection now forcefully returned the man's fondness.

When Giles finally ended their embrace, over Willow's reluctance to let go, he studied a young woman standing before him and having a blissful expression that contrasted with the tears in her eyes, and reached out to cup the left side of her face, gently rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone several times. Giles only quietly smiled, as Willow sighed and shivered to bring herself back to the world. Only when he was sure that Willow knew the warm regard her high-school librarian held the girl in did Giles step away, leaving the redhead standing there, until Xander suddenly materialized at her side, taking her in his own embrace that Willow promptly returned, flinging her arms around her yellow-crayon friend, and resting her head on his shoulder, as they watched the last act.

Buffy, in Giles' embrace, drew in a deep breath and used her Slayers senses to smell a mature, male body, tweed, soap, tea, books, dust, paper, the starch in his handkerchief, and a butterscotch candy nestled somewhere in his left waistcoat pocket. All those familiar scents of her Watcher made the young woman finally yield and give Rupert Giles the strongest possible hug she could safely give a normal human.

Eventually, both let go, and Buffy blinked away her own tears while looking up at the man smiling down at the teenager, a man who had become a far better father to her than Hank Summers. Suddenly becoming dizzy, Buffy wobbled over to the main library table, and quickly sat down at one of the chairs, muttering at the others' alarmed expressions, "Relax, I just overloaded on Sunnydale weirdness." The remaining members of the Scooby Gang took their familiar seats at the table, and made their own nods of agreement, as Buffy went on, "I mean, last night and everything that went on -- hey, Giles, just what the heck happened and how'd you stop it?"'

Willow contributed her own remarks, "Don't forget about the Mayor, either, Buffy! Who did that, and do they remember it?"

Xander cleared his throat, and once assured of everyone's attention, he firmly said, "Me, I want some kind of explanation for tweed-man's sudden attack of the warm fuzzies." The twin glares the boy received from the girls for saying that just made his smirk directed back at them only become wider, though deep in Xander's eyes there was actual wonder at finally knowing he was esteemed by someone he considered to be more of a father than another who ranked only at the level of being a sperm donor.

Smiling at what he now acknowledged to himself as his children, Rupert Giles opened his mouth, only to close it at hearing Buffy's groan, "Not only that, but Mom showed up this morning! She didn't go on her trip, and I think she found out something! She told me that after school we're going to have a discussion -- yeah, one of those! What am I going to tell her, guys?"

At Buffy's final words that were both piteous and a little whining, both Xander and Willow promptly looked at the man at the head of the table, who was clearly deep in thought while performing his new habit of rubbing his upper right arm. After a few moments, Giles' attention was brought back to those impatiently regarding him, and decisively nodding his head, the man started speaking.

"Ah, I must say, that all of those are connected, even if they don't seem to be. And, unfortunately, it's not the moment for me to reveal everything." At the disappointment that had suddenly appeared on the others' faces, Giles firmly went on. "There are extremely good reasons for that, Buffy, Willow, Xander. But, I do think that all of us should come with you when you see your mother after today here, Buffy." At his Slayer's sudden panicky look, the man quickly reassured her, "Trust me, she won't be offended or upset at our arrival, I'm sure."

Looking around at his children's puzzled acceptance, Rupert Giles took a deep breath, and determinedly continued, "However, I can tell you of some things that caused last night's affairs. First of all, decades ago, in London, there was a young man named Ethan Rayne, who came up with a rather first-rate nickname for his friend.…"

As he spoke of past events in his life that he'd never before told another soul, the Englishman again started rubbing his arm, at the exact spot where there once had been a tattoo, and now at this part of his body, there was a scar there that had completely erased this demonic mark. This whitish, proud flesh rising slightly from the surface of his skin was currently completely healed, and it didn't hurt the slightest. However, as he could ascertain both by touch alone right at this moment, and also having stared at it for hours, including just a few minutes ago back in the library shelves, his new scar was the perfect representation of a pair of scales.

Rupert Giles had thankfully noted that on his scar, the horizontal level of the beam holding the weighing pans was fractionally tilted, which had obviously resulted in him surviving his encounter with Lady Justice yesterday night.


	7. Chapter 7

"Can she ever forgive me?" whispered Joyce, as tears trickled down her cheeks.

The dry voice of the entity sharing her mind was oddly helpful in its bluntness. *Forgiveness is not my purpose in existence, Joyce. I represent truth, no matter how hard it is to bear. Rather, it is my sister, Hebe, who encourages the absolution and pardon of offenses by humans among each other. Still….,* Justice's inflection became musing, as she went on. *….as I have observed Hebe in her work, there remains very little that may be truly unforgivable, with people fairly willing to refrain from blame or causing guilt to those who wronged them, if their apology is accepted.*

"We, Hank and I, put her in a mental institution, just for telling us the truth!" Joyce choked, grabbing some more napkins from the middle of the kitchen table of her home, and dabbed her face with these. "How do I apologize to Buffy for that?"

*Your daughter has not told you the truth since then in her work as the Slayer,* pointed out Justice a trifle sardonically.

Joyce wouldn't have minded the slightest if at that moment her mind's companion had materialized in the other chair at the kitchen table across from her, just so that Justice could be properly glared at for saying that unkind observation.

While the woman was growling under her breath, the other presence seemed to ignore Joyce's displeasure, instead pensively saying, *You seem to be more concerned about the danger to her, rather than what has happened to you since our joining, and what was done during it.*

At the table, Joyce blinked, and then she shrugged in resigned acceptance. "It's not like I asked for it, Justice, so I might as well live with it. As for what happened to them both…." Joyce's face went iron-hard as she gazed into the distance, remembering the feel of a sword in her hand as it finished a pair of deserved executions, with the woman then gritting out, "I remember through you what they all did and planned! I'll do ANYTHING to protect Buffy and everyone else I love!"

*And Buffy Summers will do anything to protect her mother and those she loves,* quietly said Justice.

For a time, there was then silence in the kitchen.

"Not alone, she won't," finally said Joyce in a very determined voice.

Justice approvingly noted the sudden surge of resolve in her host's mind, but the entity then delivered her next question in a casual tone. *You are quite certain of this?*

"After what you told me?" Joyce shuddered. "Buffy dying in that cave, Xander becoming a hyena, Willow and her on-line demon, Giles having to help stop that snake demon…. With all that, somebody really needs to keep a close eye on them!"

*Let us say rather….a blind eye upon the Scooby Gang.*

Joyce sat bolt upright in her kitchen chair, and disbelievingly asked, "You're really willing to help?"

A mental sigh, that changed into an equally intangible, deprecating chuckle, was made inside the woman's head. *Since our joining by chaos magic, I have had no success in sundering the link between us. While it may be possible, I doubt that it can be done right at this moment, and in the meantime, as long as we are a pair, we may as well be to those who guard and protect this place, the….I believe the proper term is 'den mother.'*

Joyce's lips twitched in amusement over those last wry words, and then she unconsciously pulled those back to show her teeth to the world, the proper response of a maternal animal that would instantly fight to the death to defend her cubs. At the same time, a fierce firmness of purpose pulsed in the human's mind from a being that was equally dedicated to shielding the innocent and punishing the guilty.

A few moments later, Joyce shook herself, and after becoming more composed, the woman got up from her chair. Speaking to the air, she said, "Well, if we're going to lay down the law to the others--"

*Tell them there is a new sheriff in town--*

"Very funny. Anyway, it would be more convincing if we showed the kids exactly who we are."

Justice sent out an emotional wave of approval to Joyce. *Yes, gather our accouterments from your art shop that you put away before coming here. Then, attire yourself in them while speaking to your daughter and the others."

Heading for the front of the house on her way to her business, Joyce nodded, and then she offhandedly spoke, "Right, but before coming back here, I think maybe we should stop off somewhere else."

A suddenly wary Justice inquired, *Where, exactly?*

"Oh, a certain Crawford Street mansion." Right after that, the mother of the Slayer had left her home, and she began to stride rapidly with a single-minded purpose. It was fortunate that the street was deserted in the middle of the day. Even in a town where people quickly learned to mind their own business due to Sunnydale Syndrome, attention would certainly have been paid by onlookers towards an angry-looking woman currently stomping down the sidewalk, her fists clenched, and savagely muttering to herself.

"That creepy, stalking, coward who never thought that since he could talk, he really could use his breath for CPR! Which was just another sign of that moron's stupidity, who sat on his ass for a century whining about his curse, without even checking it out! 'One moment of perfect happiness,' idiot! If that statutory rapist ever got his clammy hands on my underage daughter long enough to accomplish that, even if he didn't change back to Angelus, I'd kill him myself!"

Joyce now began sweeping her right arm back and forth and then thrusting forward her flattened palm in furious jabs through the air around her, as she cocked her head as if listening to an unseen companion. An instant later, a vocal explosion erupted from her.

"What do you mean, stay calm?! I AM calm! Me not being calm means that instead of waving your sword under his nose and telling him to get out of town right NOW, I'd be planning on chopping that bastard's entire body into one-inch-size cubes, starting with his testicles!"

At that exact moment, a dozen blocks distant, Angel heard the moving van pulling up behind his mansion, and the vampire quickly unlatched the back garage door, carefully avoiding the lines of sunlight shining through the cracks at the sides of that panel. Scurrying towards the large wooden packing crate in the middle of the otherwise empty garage, Angel quickly clambered into the crate, crouching down as he pulled the lid into the proper position to completely cover the top. Even in the now-total darkness inside the crate, the vampire knew where the inner latches were, and he unerringly put his fingers at work, closing these fasteners to securely seal himself within the box.

Now lying down on the cushions on the bottom of the crate, Angel waited for the movers to take his box to their truck on the start of the vampire's journey to Los Angeles. He'd set this up long since, knowing there was always the chance he'd someday need to leave Sunnydale in a big hurry, and a creature of the night could hardly tool down the freeways at high noon in a black '57 T-bird convertible, the wind blowing his hair and the sun shining on his face. Instead, the movers knew to treat the crate gently, and more than enough money had been paid for them to carry out every word of his instructions on exactly where to ship the box containing a very bewildered Angel.

For the first time in minutes, the Irish native now had the chance to think it all through, instead of rushing around in utmost terror brought on by a truly unique event.

Those in the know about vampires understood that when the demon took over the dead body of a human, the previous occupant's soul was gone, leaving only memories behind. However, since this now-deceased being's stock of retained knowledge and experiences contained virtually all that made up a personality, parts of these recollections could occasionally influence the demon now controlling the body.

One of the few things in agreement among Angel and Angelus that the human, which centuries ago had drunkenly approached a most attractive woman late one night, had while living been a total waste of oxygen. Before having been drained of blood and turned, Liam-that-was had been a bully, a lecher, a rakehell, a layabout, and a complete disappointment to his family.

That didn't mean the Irishman was totally devoid of talents. In fact, Liam did have one very special gift that he took full advantage of during his tumultuous life.

When sober, that son of Eire instinctively always managed to know the precise moment when to decamp the vicinity when things became too hot for him, easily escaping the consequences of whatever he'd done. That trait had become a major part of the young man's character, and it had been strong enough to carry over when he'd become a vampire, one of the main reasons why Angelus had survived so long to become such a dangerous demon.

So, when just minutes ago Angel had felt a wave of utter panic wash over his mind, he'd promptly heeded the warning, and he set the events in motion that at this moment had his crate bouncing inside the moving van now leaving the Sunnydale town limits.

After vowing to himself to never return, a very relieved vampire now dwelled on the short statement that had come from the Liam personality just before the remaining wisps of individuality had faded back into the depths of Angel's consciousness. It didn't matter that this announcement had been made in Gaelic, since any male of every time and place would instantly understand the declaration of doom, disaster, and calamity, with all men feeling deep in their hearts (beating and otherwise) the chill of supreme fear at hearing just three words:

Her mother knows.

Author's Note: Well, that's the end of this story, and I'm not currently contemplating any kind of sequel or continuation at present. Perhaps if I think of more to write about Joyce/Justice, I'll start again. Perhaps. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews!

For your information, the following is presented:

1. The title of this story comes from adapting the aphorism "Justice delayed is justice denied."

2. Justice's statement during Ethan's execution is from the Latin legal phrase "Fiat justitia ruat caelum" which means "Do justice, let the sky fall," or "Let justice be done though the heavens fall" and ascribed to Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus (d. 43 B.C.). Both Justice and Joyce chose to do what needed to be done, regardless of the consequences.

3. As given in the last chapter, the Greek goddess known as Hebe was indeed the female deity in that pantheon concerned with forgiving and pardons, though she was better known as the goddess of youth, and also served as the cup-bearer to the Greek gods and goddesses during their feasts. When Hercules ended his life as a mortal and ascended to Olympus, he married Hebe. Considering she was the daughter of Zeus and Hera, the latter who sincerely hated that hero, there must have been serious mother-in-law problems.


End file.
